


Team Genius

by ReebaJee



Series: Original Characters [4]
Category: Naruto
Genre: Alternate Universe - Reincarnation, Canon-Typical Violence, Grief/Mourning, Introspection, Mental Health Issues, Reincarnation, Third Shinobi War
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-06
Updated: 2019-07-06
Packaged: 2020-06-23 16:11:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,643
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19704862
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ReebaJee/pseuds/ReebaJee
Summary: My presence in this world as a child with an adult mind caused the formation of Team Genius, comprised of myself, Maito Gai, and Hatake Kakashi, lead by future Hokage Namikaze Minato. But being a child at war is hard enough without the added strain dying and being reborn puts on a person’s psyche. I’m only good at being a shinobi because I’m terrible at being a person.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Trail Mix](https://archiveofourown.org/works/16858147) by [ReebaJee](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ReebaJee/pseuds/ReebaJee). 

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The new beginning I never wanted

**Yoko Uruki**

Disorientation.

Confusion.

Bemusement.

Curiosity.

Uneasiness.

Dawning Horror.

Panic.

Denial.

Greif.

Anger. 

These were the stages I went through emotionally upon my reincarnation. It did not matter that I was in an anime, it did not matter that I had read countless fan fictions along these lines, nor that I had written many others. What mattered was that everything I knew and loved was gone. What mattered was that I had a new life before I’d even comprehended that my old life, my _real_ life, was over.

But then again, in the end, nothing mattered. It didn’t matter that I’d never wanted this to happen to me, it didn’t matter that in my other life family therapy had started finally bring my brother and parents and I closer than ever, it didn’t matter that I hadn’t gotten to say goodbye or see my mother retire or my brother get married. Because life obviously didn’t give a fuck what I wanted- otherwise I wouldn’t be here in this shitty situation: completely alone in a war torn world. The fragments of emotional strength I had been building with my therapist shuddered and groaned under the weight of this enormous tragedy.

I knew myself very well. That is why I knew there are three bad habits, three coping mechanisms that I fall into. They were the ones I was working on before I came here and all that good work in therapy went down the drain. Avoidance. Masochism. Obedience. I distract myself from reality through books, I take my anger out at myself through punishing and brutal exercise, and I become compliant rather than taking on the responsibilities of making decisions for myself. I’m set to become the perfect shinobi. I am absolutely fucked.

Luckily, or unluckily depending on how you look at it, my childhood didn’t last long. The orphanage during wartime couldn’t afford to be lenient towards troublesome children like me. A few short years of suffocating adult surveillance and supervision and I was booted from the orphanage school to the academy at the tender age of four. I passed the entrance exams. As did Kakashi.

I didn’t care. My mind was stuck in a rut, routine and monotony barely keeping me sane, and still there were times when I’d punch a tree so hard my knuckles bled and my hand swelled. If I were anywhere else but a ninja village someone would have been concerned. Instead they praised my diligence and patted me on the head. My anger at the world, at my situation fueled me, simmering barely restrained beneath an irritated façade.

Working the academy training into my coping routines and the way I’d go at it like a drowning man for air, it was no surprise that I took to it like a prodigy. And all the while I kept up my unapproachable mask. Just like a duck, serenely floating above the water and furiously paddling underneath. A year passed. There was talk of allowing me and Kakashi to graduate. In the end we didn’t and for the first time in a while I felt something other than anger as I watched Obito and Rin standing at the graduation ceremony without Kakashi. They were four years older than us so it made some sense… but still. Unease. Curiosity. Confusion. I shook my head. It didn’t matter.

Another year passed and Kakashi and I sat with the older kids as team placements were being announced. We didn’t make eye contact. In general we tended to ignore each other. Not to mention Kakashi could barely spare a glance at anyone who wasn’t his ‘Eternal Rival!’ proclaiming that he had finally caught up to his foe. I didn’t pity him. I didn’t.

“Under Namikaze Minato, team seven will be Maito Gai, Hatake Kakashi, and Yoko Uruki.”

Huh. So I guess they held Kakashi and I back a year so we could team with Gai as the third child prodigy.

At this point… I didn’t know what to feel. ~~~~

I’d hated Sasuke when I watched the show. His anger pissed me off, ironically enough. I wanted him to get over himself, to live and forget and stop rejecting the opportunities of friendship he faced at every turn. He obviously didn’t deserve them. In hindsight maybe he knew that too. And now here I am. Clothed in armor forged from anger, self-directed hate and sewn together with fear. So much fear. I spurned connection, intimidating my peers, not even considering the possibility that I could be anything but alone in the world. I was exactly like Sasuke. Did I care? Did I dare try to be anything other than the self-contained mass of negativity that had carried me this far? Dare I hope? Perhaps what I had was good enough. It was pretty stable, it could hold. The paradigm didn’t _need_ to go anywhere… That was the fear talking. I knew my mental state was precariously balanced on a precipice, and that to get from one cliff to another I would have to jump, braving the possibility of a fall. But now that I had a team… maybe I didn’t have to be alone anymore. And maybe, just maybe, I could learn to rely on them to catch me before I hit the ground.

“My name is Yoko Uruki. I’m not a fan of standard introductions so I’ll just tell you what you need to know about me.” I informed my team in a quiet voice. “The orphanage where I live is under funded and the people there unreliable. I’ve learned not to trust easily or at all. I will do my best to break this habit when it comes to relying on you as my teammates. Forgive me when I make mistakes… and _don’t_ give me reason to mistrust you.”

There was silence after my pronouncement. Was the language too advanced for an almost seven year old prodigy? Or was it the self awareness? I let out a long breath. For better or worse, the first step of the leap had begun, now it was up to them if they decide to catch my fall.

“Well,” Minato said kindly, “I’m sure we’ll all keep that in mind. Thank your for your bravery in sharing that with us, Uruki-chan.”

I held myself back from rolling my eyes and forced myself to listen to what the others had to say. Teamwork was a two way street after all.

…

The bell test went smoothly. Kakashi saw through the trick immediately and I already knew it. Gai would have worked together with us regardless to teach _our_ _sensei_ a lesson if one of us hadn’t alerted him it was an example for us and therefore supposed to be the other way around. Once we were done Minato-sensei was barely winded and fairly amused. “Well,” he said, “I see they don’t call you three prodigies for nothing.” Gai preened and squawked out a ‘Yosh!’

We were indeed good, and probably could have taken down a chunin working together, but Minato-sensei was a Jonin, and like us he was a prodigy. I began to feel an inkling of fear towards what kind of powerhouse team we were destined to be and what kind of things we would be forced to do. Fear was squashed by obedience and denial. I wouldn’t think about it.

**It is a big step to decide to start living again.**

In my past I had gone through traumas that had put me in a similar state to the one I was in now. The most comparable was when I had found out that everything my best friend and first love had told me was a lie and that she was in fact a pathological liar. Worst of all she turned our friends against me and in the end I felt like I was the one who was going mad. Everything I thought to be true was false and my world felt like it was crumbling. I didn’t sleep for three days and three nights, occupying every spare minute with either obsessive exercise until my airways closed or marathoning anime to escape the agony that was reality.

It had been the coldest winter in seventy-five years; wind chill reached to negative sixty and icicles hung longer than I was tall. I considered lying down beneath the ice spears until one of them fell or I died from hypothermia. It was this thought that shocked me into action, asking for help. I had family I loved who loved me, and for their sake I couldn’t let myself come to harm. In this world I had no one.

72 hours of hell, one phone call and four months of recovery. That was the extent of it, the farthest I had ever fallen until now. Looking back that seems like nothing. For as long as I can remember in this world I have read or trained until I passed out from exhaustion. Without my previous breathing condition to satisfyingly hurt I was forced to push even harder in physical exercise until my muscles ached and burned and my knuckles, shins and elbows were rubbed raw from the training posts. Six years spent so far in the darkness that I had forgotten there was such a thing as light. My unhealthy habits of coping were so entrenched that I was beyond addicted. Change was inconceivable. But something had to give.

It was the concern and alarm that peeked out of Minato-sensei’s eyes when he looked at me, the way he always brought me food and watched me eat, how he inquired if I had slept and asked if I needed to see a doctor. To understand why he acted this way I looked in a mirror. I generally avoided mirrors, hating how they portrayed a face too young and features too foreign. Even when I cut my own hair I did it by feel instead of using a mirror. But to see what he saw I looked. And I too was alarmed. I looked like shit. Much too scrawny for a six year old, with more muscles than seemed proportionate or age appropriate, I was also tiny: shorter than my peers by a noticeable extent. Deep bags made my eyes droop and my cheeks were sallow and shrunken. Was that-? I leaned closer to get a better look. Indeed, I was even starting to get Itachi’s signature stress lines. The comparison gave me pause and the thought that I’d had and suppressed during training came back to me full force. My team was obviously meant to be a heavy hitter; as three prodigies training under another one we were promising new weapons being sharpened to a deadly point before being thrown out onto the front lines of war. That was our fate and no matter how horrible my life felt now, worse was most certainly to come.

Hopelessness.

Fear.

Terror.

 _I’m too broken for this_.

Crouching beneath the sink of the bathroom was definitely not the strangest place I’ve had a panic attack. People at the orphanage have gotten used to ignoring my strangled crying. Once it was over I was felt exhausted. Hollowed out. Empty but for the pounding behind my swollen eyes and a dull sense of self-loathing. And yet, however much I’d considered it, I was too much of a coward to die.

_I’m too broken for this._

So I did the only I could do. I began the slow and agonizing task of putting myself together. **It’s a big task to decide to start living. But it’s an even bigger task to actually do it.**

Introspection is painful. But necessary. I knew I felt validation from pain. I knew it wasn’t healthy. I also knew that this reality hurts like a mother fucking bitch and my choices were to either embrace it or be defeated by it. So I added the emotional pain of introspection to the list of unpleasant things I could feel accomplishment for. It was time to stop running from my emotions by hiding behind physical pain.

I started a diary. I wrote all my hate, anger, despair, and anguish into that book. Tears blurred already messy English handwriting and I began to use emotional exhaustion to help me sleep rather than physical. I didn’t have a therapist and there was no one I could possibly talk to in this world so as soon as I learned the shadow clone technique I started giving therapy to myself. I talked to my clone about things I’d avoided thinking about for six years. I metaphorically pulled my heart out of my chest, squeezed, scrubbed with an exfoliating brush and salt and stuffed it back in. I worked with what I had. I made do. I tried to take a little better care of myself even if an inner voice snarked that I obviously didn’t deserve it considering the immensity of the karmic punishment involved in just being here. I thought of my family and though they were out of reach, how they would have wanted me to be strong. I ignored the voice that said that my brother would be coping so much better than me and that he’d probably be aspiring to be Hokage by now.

Some days I felt like I wasn’t making any progress at all, and that all I was doing was inflicting unnecessary pain. But Minato-sensei looked at me with less worry nowadays and barring the possibility that he was just becoming acclimated to my pathetic appearance that was probably a good sign. I felt slightly less desperate, less dependant on distraction. I still trained a bit too much, slept a bit too little and recited memorized words such as the shinobi rulebook under my breath when it all became a bit too much. But millimeter-by-millimeter I dared to hope that I was getting better.

Kakashi and Gai really were a lot like Sasuke and Naruto. Their bickering and challenges left them with little attention for anything but each other. This suited me fine. I was firmly working on myself, reconstructing and renovating my mind, giving myself an emotional overhaul. I didn’t have the time or capacity to interact or think about anyone else. If I tried I’d probably end up being tactless and rude so really my solitude was for the best.

Minato-sensei disagreed. He withheld his much coveted sealing knowledge unless I interacted with the others in a friendly way at least once a day. He told the boys off for ignoring me and they’d even occasionally listen, to my chagrin. I blame Minato for Gai including me in his challenges. And once I’d actually beaten one of them his interest was piqued. Trying to downplay it merely resulted in Gai coming to the conclusion that I too was cool, and hip, just like his Eternal Rival. He then apologized profusely for ignoring me earlier and that though Kakashi would always be his Eternal Rival I would from there on out hold a special place in his heart as an Admirable Adversary.

It made me wonder what would happen to this world if I died. I thought about that a lot, actually, imagining with longing how nice it would be to slip away and simply be able to watch the story unfold as a ghost. When I thought of it that way, it was much easier to think rationally about how my existence might affect the timeline of this world without devolving into panic.

* * *

**Minato**

Minato thought there was something very, very wrong with his smallest genin student. Her green eyes stared blankly out of a sallow skinned face and her obviously self-cropped greasy blond hair hung limply at her pale sunken cheeks. Uruki acted like a robot most of the time, following orders without complaint or thought. 

Besides her remarkably well defined muscles for a six year old, Uruki was skinny as a rail. He noticed one time when they all went out for a team meal that she avoided heavy foods and anything difficult to chew. She’d clean her plate every time though, scarffing it down quicker than even Kakashi. The sight broke his heart. Minato knew what it was like to be an orphan, and no doubt the war was only making the strain on the orphanage’s resources worse. No doubt light mushy food was the only thing Uruki was used to and her speed eating was a habit formed to help her survive in a system of first come first serve. Minato always made sure to order a bit too much so that the three of them could take home leftovers. Still, Uruki didn’t seem to be gaining much weight and Minato decided to do a little sleuthing. Peeking in on the orphanage during mealtime he was surprised to find that contrary to his memory the food was evenly divided and handed out in boxes that the children cleaned and returned. Next Minato took Uruki to get a ‘check up’. “It’s just routine, and as your sensei I act sort of like a guardian. The others will go with me another time.” He lied. Uruki didn’t look very convinced, especially when Minato asked the doctor to run extra tests for stomach parasites. They came back negative and by then Minato was stumped. 

When Minato finally thought to ask Uruki herself the answer he got was a surprise. She tilted her head thoughtfully before asking, “Do you ever get nervous sensei? Like before you talk to a lot of people?”

Minato blinked at the apparently unrelated question. Well, prodigy or not, she was only six and they tended to go on tangents. He decided to humor her. It was good to let a kid be a kid every once in a while and he could always bring up her eating habits later. “I think I know what you’re talking about, Uruki-chan. It’s called stage fright.”

She nodded. “And you know when you have stage fright and you don’t feel like eating? Like you just really, really don’t _want_ to?”

“Yeeees…” Minato answered, having an inkling where this was going but wanting to hear it said aloud.

Uruki shrugged her tiny, bony shoulders. “It’s like that. I don’t like to eat.” In her mind it was more analogous to being a prey in fight, flight, freeze mode and biologically unprepared for food: the opposite of rest and digest. She was caught in an endless tug of war between panic and despair with rage pulling her back from either cliff. But Uruki was afraid if she said that they would think she’s _really_ messed up and unfit for shinobi work. Honestly it was nothing a little serotonin reuptake inhibitor and some psychotherapy couldn’t handle. Alas, those two things did not exist in this shinobi-forsaken world. Uruki popped out of her thoughts when she realized Minato was no longer walking beside her. Looking back to where he had stopped walking she furrowed her brow. “Sensei?”

He blinked and in two long strides caught up to her. “Uruki-chan, have you always felt this way?”

Uruki turned back forward. “For a long time.” She answered.

Minato was quiet after that. Thinking the matter settled, Uruki put her head down and followed, content in the knowledge that she could completely zone out all thought and trust her sensei to lead her safely home. It wasn’t until he stopped did Uruki look up and find that they were not, in fact, at the orphanage. She looked around in confusion. “Where are we?”

Minato patted her on the head with a reassuring smile. “This is the Yamanaka compound. I want you to meet an old friend of mine.”

Uruki instantly went pale. No. No, no, nonono! Her feet trembled as she took a hesitant step back, then mentally cursed herself because was she _really_ considering trying to run away from the _yellow flash?_ But what other choice did she have? If a Yamanaka went digging into her head and found a past life Uruki would be getting a one way ticket to T&I, Danzo, Orochimaru, or all three. Time for the oldest trick in the book. “Behind you!” Uruki screamed, and then she sprinted, not even looking to see if Minato fell for it. Predictably, Uruki didn’t even make it past the compound gates before she was tugged off her feet by the back of her shirt. Staring down at her dangling feet, Uruki refused to look into her sensei’s eyes.

“What was that about?” Minato asked, stern under a layer of amusement.

She would’ve shuffled her feet if they were on the ground. “Don’t want them in my head.” She muttered petulantly. “I’ll eat, I promise! Just don’t let them do that thing they do to bad guys.” Ah, yes. Yet another defense mechanism: the harmless little girl act. Granted, she was (sort of) a little girl, but she wasn’t all that harmless. None the less, the role fit like an old glove. Up until she’d physically grown out of it, one of her favorite security blankets in her past life was knowing that little girls were often underestimated or ignored. The timid demeanor was such a knee-jerk reaction that Uruki didn’t even consider that it might be seen as manipulation.

Luckily Minato fell for it. His face softened as he gently placed his student back down on the ground. “I’m not going to have you _tortured_ so that you’d eat more, Uruki-chan.” He knelt down in front of his student to force her to look him in the eye. “Did you really think I’d do that to you?”

All Uruki could do was shrug. Honestly, she didn’t know mind walking was considered torture; she just didn’t want it to happen to her. Minato frowned. Then, in one smooth motion pulled Uruki into a hug, to her great surprise. Uruki’s lips trembled as she slowly hugged him back. For the first time in six years it felt like someone cared.


	2. Jade and Blades

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Death of an identity

**Yoko Uruki**

In my old life I had something that I always kept with me. It was a jade pendant of a tiger to be exact, but that’s inconsequential.

Our first mission outside the village was a supposed C-rank escort mission. Our job was to make sure the treasure made it safely from point A to point B. Seemed simple enough except that someone else had also hired ninja to steal the very treasure we were guarding. None of us even knew what was in the box before suddenly a mist ninja pulled the simple jade pendant from it and leapt away. I made chase without a thought.

I used to keep that necklace with me always. It was my own material representation of permanence, something about me that I could rely on to remain constant. No matter what, it was always there, always steady. No matter how I, or the world around me changed, something would always stay the same. It served to remind me that wherever you go, there you are. I am _me_ no matter what. Grasping something as nebulous and impermanent as identity on its own felt too uncertain, so I tied it to a physical object. It gave me reassurance.

A kunai slipped into my hand with the ease of hours spent practicing. 

I still knew who I was without my necklace; the thing was a reminder, a constant, a literal rock, but not my definition. No, by definition I was my brother’s sister, my parents’ child. I was studious and hard working. I was sensitive and artistic and intelligent. I worked through my problems quietly and peacefully through therapy and communication. I was the introverted friend, someone who avoided conflict and drama. The one who loved to lend a helping hand, to care for others over herself. My name was Sarah.

“Yoko.”

I held the pendant in my hand. I rubbed the smooth surface like I had done a thousand times before, only this time, instead of whatever hand lotion I’d recently put on, my thumb smeared fresh blood. It seeped into the lines of the carving and cast the pale green swirls in stark relief.

I thought it was pretty.

That was wrong.

I should have been disgusted.

Then I remembered, in _this_ world I’d grown acclimated to a society fueled by violence, desensitized by the academy’s carefully crafted curriculum. I’d learned to let ferocity fuel _me._ My training, my anger and self-destruction: all founded on a base of aggression. For seven years while I stewed in grief, the violence within me had been cultivated, nurtured, and encouraged. I either didn’t notice, or, more likely, couldn’t care. I was too busy struggling to keep my head above the churning sea of insanity constantly threatening to drown me, to worry about resisting society’s propaganda and conditioning. I was ripped from my old world and came into this one broken, unable to do anything but be pulled along by the whims of this violent reality. I was hailed as a genius by mercenaries and placed on a team of martial prodigies. So really, I shouldn’t have been surprised by what happened in this, my first real fight.

But still. I don’t think I realized until that moment how much this world had changed me.

“Yoko Uruki.”

Blood and guts dripped off my kunai in a reeking, awful mess. The ninja that I’d retrieved the necklace from lay at my feet, dead.

I’d acted without thinking, on instinct, vicious and brutal and terrifying. I became a feral animal, cornered. Time ceased to exist while I fought, each moment drawn to eternity yet ending so fast it was as if no time passed at all. Once it was over I could almost believe I hadn’t moved if it weren’t for the warm blood that now coated my face and arms.

“…Uruki-chan?”

My hands shook from the recent encounter, adrenalin still pumping in my veins and my breaths coming quick and sharp. Over to my left, Gai stood triumphantly besides the collapsed forms of his two opponents, each with a broken skull and neck respectively. I don’t think he’d realized yet that he’d killed them. To the right Minato finished with the leader. Up ahead, Kakashi was the one who’d spoken, trying to get my focus off of what I had done without leaving his live capture unguarded. He didn’t keep my attention for long. As if drawn by a magnet I looked back down at my first kill. It was laid out before me, a corpse, once living, now sloppily eviscerated by my own blade. I shuddered, recalling the sensation of tearing through flesh. I squeezed my eyes shut and my hands clenched until I felt a sickening crunch. When I worked up the courage to look, I saw broken shards of jade, sitting in the center of my bloody palm.

I hurled over and puked.

I didn’t eat for over a week after that. Not a thing made it past my lips all throughout our journey to deliver the remaining treasure. I probably would have gone longer if Minato-sensei hadn’t wrangled some food into me the minute our mission was over. Mine was an uncommonly strong reaction to a first kill and could’ve been seen as borderline insolent had the wrong person caught wind of it. Luckily for me, Minato interpreted my fast not as an _unpatriotic food-strike_ , but as a side effect of the supposed ‘ _eating disorder’_ his Yamanaka friend had diagnosed me with. Food-related anxiety is what they called it, though if they’d asked I would have told them it wasn’t limited only to food.

No.

Currently it was everything, centered mostly on the impermanence of life, reality and identity. _Who was this killer? What was this thing, committing such vile acts of brutality? Where did it come from? When did this body become a butchering knife? **What happened to sensitive Sarah?**_

I couldn’t handle it. It was too much. Avoidance took over until I truly believed it was only the kill that bothered me, not the implications of what I had become.

(Was _I_ even _me_ anymore?) No.

(Then who am I?) _No._

(What am I?) **_No!_**

No.

I focused on the eating thing. I rationalized my reaction as unhealthy but not particularly surprising. My first kill was exceptionally traumatizing after all. You see, disembowelment is generally avoided among shinobi as it is inefficient and extremely unpleasant; not only for the one getting disemboweled. Unfortunately since my head didn’t even come above a man’s waist my options were fairly limited. Too tiny and fragile for most taijutsu takedowns, eyesight too poor for long-distance projectiles and reflexes too slow and inaccurate to perform nonlethal incapacitations, all I had left really was to get up close and personal and go all stabby-stabby. I may have been seen as a genius in the academy but that only went so far as book-knowledge, physical conditioning and brutal tenacity could take me. I was strong and smart, but I wasn’t skilled. Actual fighting talent against a larger opponent was something I severely lacked unless working with my teammates. It was something sensei sought to rectify as soon as we got back to the village.

“This is called a naginata.” Minato-sensei introduced. “It’s historically a weapon of choice for many warrior women.” He handed the bladed pole-arm over to me. “The length will more than compensate for your lack of reach and will give you the added benefit of distance when cutting down your enemies.” He gave me a wink. “Less messy that way, and you won’t have to worry about throwing up on any more dead bodies!”

I took his joking with a strained smile, testing the tall spear-like weapon in my grasp. I looked up at the blade towering over me, about as tall as Minato. Sun sparkled off the polished metal at the top, seals of sensei’s design etched into its surface and down the shaft glinting with refracted light. It was an impressive and generous gift; his seal work alone probably worth a small fortune. The weapon was heavy in my grasp. I had doubts that I’d ever grow to be tall enough to wield it properly, but I was strong and determined and oh, so grateful. I swore I would live up to Sensei’s belief in me and do the beautiful weapon justice. Even if it meant resigning myself to henceforth be known as the tiny chick with the big stick.

I trained with my new weapon constantly. Masochism had me practice until my arms quivered and trembled. I found that I liked the confidence it gave me; there’s something reassuring about carrying an intimidating-ly large bladed weapon. It was a bit unwieldy at first given its size compared to mine but in no time at all the thing became like an extension of my body; no doubt in part because I took it with me everywhere. I began using the blunt end of it to trip people and bat my teammates away from each other when they got too annoying. When he saw this Minato would sigh fondly and say he created a monster. I don’t know if I’d go so far as to say that but he definitely created another unhealthy dependence for me. When I said I took my naginata everywhere with me I really meant everywhere.

Understand that up until that moment, here in this world, in this life, I’d had nothing. In the literal sense I had no personal property. Clothes and toys were communal in the orphanage. And metaphorically I had nothing either. I wasn’t _someone’s anybody_. I _was_ no one. My name didn’t even feel like my own. So can you just imagine? Minato comes along and I become _his_ student. He gives me a gift personalized to both of us at a time when I’m vulnerable after my first kill. It is not only my first possession I can call my own but also a memento of our relationship and something he promises will keep me safe; something that will guard me from the type of trauma I’m reeling from. It makes me recognizable, makes people notice me. I’m no longer just a random orphan who no one will miss if I’m gone; I’m that tiny chick with a big stick. I’m Namikaze fuckin’ _Minato’s_ student. Now that I have something to set me apart people actually know I exist. I didn’t know I needed acknowledgment until I got it. Is it any wonder that I latched onto my naginata in the way that I previously kept my jade pendant?

The bladed weapon became a grounding presence by my side, rested against my shoulder, clenched in my fist. I would not let it go. I’m sure I made a ridiculous sight lugging a six-foot spear with me to meals, the bathroom and even to bed. Anyone who told me to put it away or leave it in my room was soundly ignored. And _that_ , I think, is why the orphanage decided to finally kick me out.

An orphanage in a military state at war was bound to be overcrowded. They didn’t need to keep housing insubordinate little girls who already _technically_ had a job. So it was that I found myself on the streets at seven years old with nothing to my name but my naginata. Even the clothes on my back were on loan from the orphanage until I could buy some of my own. The institution was stretched so thin that they couldn’t afford to give handouts.

I had _some_ money at least; mission pay kept on credit since giving cash to a seven-year-old living with other children was an all-around terrible idea. I hadn’t thought to spend any of it yet and with the pay upped from that c-rank mission gone wrong, the one where I’d made my first kill, I probably had a decent amount of Ryo. Still, to be left so utterly unprepared was nerve wracking. Where was I supposed to go? Who would rent to a kid like me? What was the going rate for single person apartments? Come to think of it, where did Kakashi live? Wasn’t he an orphan too by now? Maybe I could pull the teammate card and crash at his place until I found one of my own.

I ended up walking to where our team split up after training and then went in the direction Kakashi usually goes. It wasn’t long until I came to a quaint though mostly deserted residential area. There were only a few old fashioned houses, gathered around as if they all used to be surrounded by a fence. It seemed odd that nobody was around. I turned a corner and was relieved when I finally saw someone. Maybe I could ask for directions. The man looked old with bright white hair, his back turned to me as he scrubbed graffiti paint off the walls.

“Uh ‘scuse me sir?” I called out timidly to get his attention. My voice was weak from infrequent use and he didn’t seem to hear me. I took quick steps closer to notice the old man’s shoulders seemed to be shaking from the straining work. Why would someone graffiti an old geezer’s house anyway? That’s just cruel. “Sir?” I asked again. “D’you want some help?” The man whirled around to face me, damp, bloodshot eyes desperately wide and I saw that he was nowhere near as old as I’d assumed. Oh.

Sakumo.

It was Kakashi’s dad.

He wasn’t dead yet. 

The war was in full swing so I’d assumed he’d killed himself already. I swallowed hard, my mouth feeling uncomfortably dry. “Wow,” was all I managed to say. “Looks like you really _do_ need help.” And with that the man before me, the fallen hero, burst out crying.

Kakashi came home from his groceries run to the scene of his father kneeling sobbing before me as I awkwardly patted his back, my naginata squished uncomfortably between us like a flag pole stuck in an anthill. I saw Kakashi flush to the roots of his hair though I couldn’t tell if it was from embarrassment or anger. No doubt he’d react the same either way.

“What are _you_ doing here?” He demanded. Yup, I was right. “What the hell did you do?”

“Um-“ was all I could manage before he steamrolled on.

“Get out of here Yoko.”

“Is- is this your dad?” I asked instead.

“Go away!” Kakashi dropped his bags and physically pushed me apart from Sakumo.

I lurched a bit but steadied myself with my stick and obligingly backed up a few steps. I looked worriedly back at the shaking shell of a man behind us. “Is he going to be okay?” That silenced him. Silenced them both really.

“What do you care?” Kakashi eventually bit out defensively.

It gave me pause because really, why _did_ I care? Or more specifically, _how_ did I care? All this life I’d been so preoccupied with maintaining my own tenuous sanity that I couldn’t handle the burden of feeling empathy for others. I couldn’t spare the emotional energy for anyone else. So why here, now, after a simple miscalculation was I feeling concerned for this person, this character whose life I’d never even bothered to consider to change? “I...” A stylized image of this man lying in a pool of his own blood came to mind; memories of my first kill supplied my imagined scene with the scents and sounds of pain. Then the bloodstained blade in his gut became an icicle, and instead of lying on his side he was on his back in the snow, lips turning blue from the bitter cold, wondering why his beloved village turned on him, why her most precious person lied to her. “I... want to help.” I realized out loud, just as shocked as my audience. Blinking out of my reflection I turned back to reality. Kakashi seemed ready to protest but I looked him in the eye and said, “That’s what teammates are for, right?” And surprisingly, he relented. Come to think of it, the Kakashi I knew wasn’t a rule bound robot. He was full of himself and a prick, but he wasn’t rigid and cold. I suppose that would or could come about after his father’s death. Hopefully that wouldn’t happen.

Together we managed to convince Sakumo to get off the ground and go inside. Kakashi got started on cooking dinner and I dragged Sakumo to the bathroom to help him wash up. The man was a wreck. I could relate. Hair a tangled mess, unshaven face adding to his haggard appearance he also stank as if he hadn’t bothered to keep up personal hygiene. It was one of the first things to go when it came to depression for me too but one of the most helpful I found, for getting back on track. It’s good the culture here is more lax when it comes to nudity or I’d have had a much harder time getting Sakumo to sit in the shower so I could soap him up, wash and comb his hair and shave his face. He was almost entirely unresponsive under my care, just staring off into space and letting me move him around like a doll. It was alarming because it was like he wasn’t even all there. Like whatever I said to him wouldn’t get through. Still, seemingly futile repetition is all you can do sometimes until the person is ready and able to listen. “You’re loved. You’re needed. Kakashi loves you. Kakashi needs you. You’re a good man.” I said these five sentences over and over in murmured whispers as I washed him.

Maybe I was being stupid. Maybe I was doing more harm than good and the shame of being comforted and cared for by a seven year old who looked like a five year old would only make him feel worse. But seeing Sakumo like this in such a relatable, familiar state awakened an aspect in me that I hadn’t seen in a long time. The Caretaker. Something clicked into place as she joined her position next to my other ingrained coping mechanisms. Taking care of others is, after all, such a worthy purpose and an excuse not to take care of yourself. I would be okay, not through healing and hard introspective work, but because I _had to be_ strong for someone else. The Avoidance, The Masochist, and The Obedient welcomed The Caretaker into the fold with open arms, and my little circle of dysfunctional character traits regained a member.

Dinner was ready by the time we were done. Kakashi seemed surprised when we came back slightly damp but didn’t comment. I guess he didn’t expect I’d actually give his father a bath. By the way he stopped mouth breathing in Sakumo’s presence though I think he was appreciative.

And that was how I started to live with Kakashi.

“Kakashi and I are going out.” I told the curled up lump that was Sakumo. He only grunted in reply. I put my hands on my hips. “You better not still be in bed by the time we’re finished training, got it?” This time he didn’t bother to answer. “Look Sakumo,” I hesitated then sat on the edge of the bed, “I know you’re hurting. I know that right now, just _existing_ is agony. I know you feel like shit and probably hate yourself. I know you feel guilty that you’re not taking care of your son.” I cautiously rested a hand on a blanket-covered shoulder. “But hiding in bed isn’t going to solve anything. You’re strong Sakumo. You can and will overcome this. Small steps okay? Get up, take a shower and go outside to get the groceries. Wear a disguise if you have to but just get out of the house for a bit. Pretend it’s a mission. I guarantee you’ll feel better.”

“Yoko!” Kakashi shouted from the front door. “I’m leaving without you if you don’t hurry up. We’re going to be late!”

I gave Sakumo a few rough pats on the back. “You got this, soldier.” Then I hurried after Kakashi. “I’m coming, I’m coming. Geez, no one will care if we’re a few minutes late. You’re like my mother.”

Kakashi paused mid-step. “Your mother?”

I opened my mouth but nothing came out. Shit. I closed my mouth. I hadn’t talked to anybody about my family before. I hadn’t talked about anything I’d lost from my first life. I felt my throat closing up. I didn’t want to share. Their memories were mine and mine alone. Words would only ruin them. “Yeah.” I eventually croaked. “Let’s go.”

Kakashi, thankfully, didn’t pry.

* * *

**Kakashi**

Kakashi didn’t think much of either of his teammates. Guy was annoying but persistent and Uruki was studious and even more antisocial. Neither of them could measure up to his sheer level of talent and so neither were particularly interesting to Kakashi, even despite their various eccentricities.

But that was before Uruki moved in with him.

Now usually Kakashi liked to maintain clean boundaries between family and team, but Uruki came into their lives at a time of critical pack collapse. Much as Kakashi hated to admit it, his father was no longer fit to be alpha and try as he might; Kakashi wasn’t ready for it either. 

Enter Yoko Uruki. She took one look at Sakumo and just knew; this was a man who needed a leader. The very first day they met, Kakashi’s father let Uruki wash him like a mother does a newborn pup and from that moment on she took charge of the Hatake household. She may not have known that was what she was doing at the time but it happened nonetheless. For better or worse, Sakumo was Uruki’s follower now and Kakashi in turn followed his dad.

Kakashi didn’t quite know what to think of his teammate’s sudden turnabout in rank in his life. He had always seen Uruki as a follower herself, meek and unthinking, a puppy to Minato sensei’s heels. But the way she could order Sakumo around brokered no argument. She gave him tasks to complete and even had him writing daily reports in something she called a ‘diary’, which Sakumo dutifully completed. Kakashi never saw the point of the written reports when she always insisted on receiving them verbally and never even read the diary thing.

There were a lot of decisions Uruki made for them that Kakashi didn’t understand, like when she found out about Sakumo’s forced retirement from active duty and insisted he take a part time job at the archives instead. The archives were boring and understaffed, backlogged all the way to the Hokage Mountain and so big that workers sometimes went days without seeing another worker. But each day his father came home a little better, and sometimes he’d even let the tiniest bit of pride show in his voice when he mentioned organizing an entire storeroom full of important reference files.

Kakashi thought he’d be jealous or resentful that Uruki was succeeding where Kakashi could not. His dad was all he had left and Uruki was an orphan, what was to say she wasn’t just doing this to steal Sakumo from him? He should be more wary of letting a potential threat into the pack. But Kakashi was too relieved to be cautious. She came and filled the void that had been lost ever since his father’s fateful mission, and Kakashi could finally relax knowing someone else had everything under control. Besides, Uruki had said that she was working on her trusting others. The least he could do for all she’d done for them was trust her in return.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wherever You Go, There You Are is the title of a mindfulness book by Jon Kabat Zinn. I haven’t actually read the book, but the title is something my mom often quotes at me.

**Author's Note:**

> I've thought long and hard about this story. It means a lot to me and a lot of the material is personal and very close to home. This is perhaps the most honest self-insert fic out there. When I first posted this story as a one-shot in Trail Mix, I never thought that it would be noticed or liked enough for anyone to leave a comment. This is barely a fan-fiction after all, it's about me being reborn into the the part of the story with arguably the most influential plot events but being too unstable to even contemplate changing anything on purpose. And yet my self-indulgent exploration of my own psyche through the lense of death and reincarnation somehow got two stellar and encouraging reviews that gave me the confidence to make this into its own story. For that I want to thank Orlha and JrFireMageTink who without their support I would not be posting this today. 
> 
> If you follow some of my other works you'll know that I have quite a few WIPs already but the muse, as they say, strikes when and where she wishes.


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